


A Stray

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Dogs, Gen, Lost Love, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Post-War, Recovery, Regret, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Lewis wants to start over with a clean slate, and that means he needs to cut himself free, the best he can.
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	A Stray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lysel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysel/gifts).



> This is a prompt fic for my friend Lysel who wanted Lewis on his rocky road to recovery taking count of things he's lost. I hope this is to your liking and tugs at your heartstrings in the way you hoped! 
> 
> I wrote this in one day, so I'm quite pleased with myself.  
> As always, kudos and comments are love, if you please. <3
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors' portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series and means no disrespect.

“I’m not calling you a coward, Lewis,” Blanche sighed in frustration, swirling the cherry in her whiskey. 

Lewis pursed his lips at his sister and leaned on his restlessly bouncing knee. “That’s what you imply. That’s what running away implies,” he argued.

Blanche took a long, steady breath and rolled her eyes before knocking back her drink, the second that afternoon as Lewis couldn’t help but count. “No, what I mean is that running away won’t solve anything. You’re still going to have to deal with it.”

“I know!” Lewis replied. He could smell the sweet cherry soaked in whiskey and it was making him irritated. “I know I have to, but I’m going to do what I must to make it last first. It’s not going to be pretty, but sometimes that’s what it takes.”

Blanche quirked her fine brows at that and didn’t reply. She fished the cherry from the bottom of the glass and popped it into her mouth. “You could just stay here and wait for dad to come home,” she pointed out. “You’re already here after all.”

Lewis’ knee kept bouncing, his shin tense and the muscle near cramping but unable to stop. “I’m here to see you and tell you in person. I’ll be gone before he gets here.”

Blanche gave him a sharp look that reminded him of their mother. God, he hoped he wasn’t taking after their father as strikingly. “And that’s why I’m calling what you’re doing running away,” she said.

“I don’t care. I want out of here and out of this hell house, and I’ve already decided that it’s best for me so that’s what I’ll do,” Lewis asserted, perhaps too harshly to his little sister who after all had no fault in this. Quite the contrary, she had proven herself to be quite loyal and kind even if aloof and much too alike her brother. 

Blanche looked sour. “I live here and it’s perfectly fine,” she said, sounding defensive. 

Lewis took a deep breath. He knew he hadn’t meant it as a judgement to her, but he couldn’t blame her for taking it like that. There was much there to be addressed, but he had his hands full with his own troubles at the moment, and it would be years and years before he and Blanche could see fully eye to eye about this. Perhaps they’d never do the work, considering how they were still here together like this. 

“I’m sorry,” Lewis said, forming the words with care and sincerity that he forced himself to tolerate, for his sister’s sake. “That’s how it feels to me. I’m not blaming you, but please understand that for me this house means many different things than to you. To me, it’s trauma, not a home.”

Balance looked like a cat with her blouse collar in a big bow and her manicured nails tapping at the couch cushions when she shrugged off Lewis’ longwinded apology and explanation, leaning more comfortably over the armrest. “Oh please, don’t give me that shrink babble,” she groaned and lifted her empty glass in a way Lewis recognized as compulsive. “If you want to spend your Sundays in church cellars talking about your childhood, then fine, but don’t push that on me.”

Lewis shrugged. “I’m not,” he assured her. “But it’s really helped me.”

Blanche softened again, her irritation melting away. “Well I’m glad,” she said, sincere. “Even if it’s made you less fun.”

Lewis smiled at being teased. He was going to miss her and their sibling bantering. His sister was the only one who felt like true family to him at this point, but since she was going to stay living here, he had accepted that letting her go was inevitable. He was mourning their brunches and afternoons of making other people uncomfortable at clubs and cocktail parties already.

“I like to think he’d be proud of me,” Lewis said quietly, the smile still on his lips and feeling the echo of the same compulsion that had made Blanche tilt her empty glass.

Blanche bristled again. “Oh no, don’t you do that,” she scolded.

Lewis looked up in surprise. “Do what?”

“You did not get sober for Dick Winters,” Blanche said firmly as if reminding him, her ruby lips thin in anger, “you are not doing any of this for Dick Winters. Say it.”

Lewis hesitated, feeling meek and put-upon, but his sister’s stern gaze was demanding, and he was already burdening her so he yielded. With a sigh, he recited, “I am not doing this for Dick Winters.”

“Good,” Blanche said, “who are you doing this for?”

“For my own sake,” Lewis answered, easily this time.

Blanche looked pleased and nodded in vindicative manner. “Good,” she said again, this time with finality. “I hate him.” 

Lewis smiled with amusement. “You do not,” he chuckled, “very few hate Dick Winters, and I know for a fact that you are not one of them.”

“Well now I am,” Blanche argued and tilted her chin up. “It’s solidarity between sisters to hate the boys who break our hearts. I am in solidarity with you, and that’s for life.”

Lewis wasn’t prepared for the dull throb of grief at her comment. It was like her words summoned the full power of loss he would rather let lurk about nameless and ignore, and the pain was still fresh. He was thirsty all of a sudden, craving for a pick me up or a distraction, and thought that some people ought to be shown how to drink properly and not soil good whiskey with sugary cherries or tonic.

“I better go now before dad comes home,” he said while wrestling with his cravings. 

“He won’t be back for another hour at least,” Blanche pointed out. Lewis thought he heard disappointment in her tone, like she didn’t want him to leave yet. His grief was mellowed by affection for his sister. 

“I’ll walk back. I think I need some fresh air,” Lewis said and got up. Blanche looked up at him with a pout that made the woman look like a girl again, and Lewis leaned over to her and kissed her cheek.

“Goodbye now, Blanche,” he said.

“No, not goodbye,” Blanche muttered, her hands grasping Lewis by the elbow and leaning her cheek against his. “See you.”

“Alright,” Lewis allowed and nudged her gently. “See you.”

Lewis walked home as he had promised. He liked driving and he liked his car, but only when he walked he could really process his thoughts and allow them to flow over him. Wind on his face and the way the brisk pace he walked kept his blood pumping made him feel grounded, which was what he needed when he got back to his house.

Packing up had been surprisingly easy. All that mattered had fit neatly into three boxes, the rest he was going to leave behind. He didn’t bother himself with things like getting rid of the furniture or the extra clothes in the closet, but was shamelessly going to dump that on whoever he’d hire to sell the house, and with those three boxes by the door he was ready to leave at any moment he’d so desire.

The phone rang almost immediately when Lewis had shaken his jacket and set his hat on the table by the door. He took a deep breath and let it ring for a few times more, then went to pick it up.

It was exactly who he thought it would be.

“What’s this nonsense your sister speaks of you moving?” Stanhope’s irritated voice demanded the first thing when Lewis picked up.

“Just that,” Lewis replied. “I’m moving to San Francisco.”

Stanhope huffed, the closest he ever came to laughing and always as demeaning. “Nonsense,” he scoffed. “Come back home for dinner so that we can discuss business.”

“There’s no business, that’s why I’m moving,” Lewis argued, forcing himself to ignore the order. He had decided he wasn’t ever going back, effective immediately, and he was going to stand by that. “No factory, no work. I’ve decided I don’t care for any of that, so I’m moving.”

“No, you’re not,” Stanhope said. It wasn’t dismissive anymore, it was another order. 

Lewis felt his feet growing cold and he tangled his fingers anxiously into the phone cord. “I am. I have already made plans, and it will happen.”

“Quit with that nonsense,” Stanhope growled. “You’ve had your fun now. Come home and we’ll talk.”

Lewis squeezed the cord harder. “No.” 

It was quiet for a moment. It got heavier and heavier, the silence ringing demandingly, and Lewis felt the urge to say it was all a joke and comply rising up, but he kept his mouth shut. No smart comments, no attempts to stir up trouble, none of the usual. Just silence, that was all he could stick to.

“I can’t believe my own son is doing this to me,” Stanhope said quietly, his voice thin and falsely calm. “I certainly wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing something like this to your grandfather. Your place is with the family and that’s that! Even you used to understand that much.”

It stung, and the pain made defiant anger flare up. Lewis felt oddly split then, like a part of him had stepped outside of himself and was watching the emotions welling up from the outside. The insult had sparked anger that was demanding justice and apologies like it had a thousand times before, even though he knew those would never come. 

Lewis let his emotions rise but didn’t grasp or feed them, just observed them, and let them go. 

“I’ve already packed and said goodbye to Blanche. I’ll send her a card when I’ve settled. Goodbye,” Lewis said like a well-practiced line, and before Stanhope had the chance to reply, he hung up. He was sure the phone would ring again very soon, so he unplugged it.

When the call ended, all tension and anger drained out of Lewis along with all his strength. He felt exhausted by such a simple task and irritated with himself because of it. There had been no catharsis of a screaming match or a victorious rebellion, just a meek little conversation and a hasty retreat. He hated it and felt a rush of disgust at himself and how pathetic it all was, and with that came the thirst. 

Lewis rubbed his hand down his face harshly. “No,” he said to himself out loud, “that is not helpful.”

He kept saying that, but the urge never faded. He huffed in irritation with himself and took his hat and jacket and went to another walk. 

He walked a lot these days, if only to let his feet carry him further away from his drink cupboard and count the steps while doing so. He didn’t have anything in there anymore, it was just an empty cupboard, but the space still held an enticement as if it were haunted by the bottles he had tossed out. It was maddening that the temptation was still there, but then again walking away from it also held the same power as it had when the cupboard had still been well stocked. 

The cold wind was a comfort again. Harsh and biting, but comforting all the same. Lewis pushed his hands into his pockets and kept walking against it while bitterly questioning why these were the only two choices in his life: the biting wind on his face or poison to numb himself so that he didn’t feel it.

He was glad to know that he wasn’t alone in feeling disappointed at his new, good life. When Lewis had lost all of his partying friends to snide comments about preaching and thinking he was better than them or being boring and uptight, he had wanted to throw back that he sure as hell didn’t feel any sort of saintly rapture or fulfilment in his new alcohol-free life. His Sundays at church, as hilarious a place as that was for Lewis to be, had provided him with a frame of reference for his expectations, and when things got tough it was comforting to know that it was like that to everyone else too.

Feeling the pain of cold wind was a supposed joy now. It was, even if it hurt, Lewis reminded himself as he walked, as it was there now and it would be there tomorrow, and all he had to do was to show up to feel it. 

He walked faster and tried to shake the scattered feelings and the lingering anger from the phone call. He tried to tell himself that he had succeeded, that he had said what he needed to say and that he hadn’t lied, run away or taken a bait that he knew would only put him on a hook again, but it didn’t feel good. He pushed his face against the wind and told himself that it was all worth it, and if it wasn’t, it would soon be. 

Lewis came to town and walked the main street, a familiar path he knew so well he didn’t have to think about it. Nixon, New Jersey was going through a change after the factory had sunken and taken most of the jobs with it, and Lewis was certain it soon wouldn’t be called Nixon anymore. It was supposed to feel like a clean slate, but Lewis wanted to find the one who had made up the phrase and tell them that surely by clean they had also meant empty.

That was something Lewis had run away from and something he had talked often about to his AA group. How with empty glass had come the realization of an empty house, empty rooms, empty platitudes, empty pastimes… And an empty bed. 

Lewis felt a cutting pain in the middle of his chest like he was about to be cracked open. It was surreal to try to explain the pain of something that wasn’t. Emptiness, the state of not being or existing, could be so painful even though there was nothing there. It was bizarre. 

He thought of Blanche’s proud anger again and tried to feel warmed by it, but he didn’t deserve it. It was his fault, after all. Where he was now was his own fault, and he couldn’t blame Dick for any of it.

The thirst that had almost been chased away by the biting wind was back and Lewis came to a frightened realization that he was about to pass a bar. 

He never let himself think about Dick on his walks, not so directly and not by his name even in his thoughts. That was too dangerous and too powerful, so much sharper than the hurt coming from his home that was so familiar that it was almost a part of him, and something that Lewis couldn’t talk about to anyone.

Well, perhaps to Blanche, who only knew because Lewis had gone to her blackout drunk on the night of the day that Dick had left and Lewis had finally realized that he wasn’t coming back. He had crawled into her arms and sobbed while confessing all and everything that he and Dick had been to each other and how it was now over, cried until he had run out of tears and thrown up, then passed out on her bathroom floor. 

All things considered, Blanche had taken it remarkably well and kept his secret. She had made him breakfast, then through several years lent her ear and shoulder to Lewis’ sorrow and out of sisterly loyalty learned to hate the man who had grown tired of watching her brother’s drinking.

Gone, that was what rang in Lewis’ head when he took the first turn away from the main street to avoid the bar. Gone. Dick was gone. He had grown tired, his love had faded, and now he was gone, gone from Lewis and his life, so perfectly gone that he might as well be dead. 

Only he wasn’t. He was out there somewhere in Pennsylvania, living his life and being no doubt happy and successful, perfectly happy to have nothing to do with Lewis. The thought of that would have felt impossible back then, when they had met and clicked so naturally, become the best of friends and then lovers, so utterly perfect for each other that love songs had started to make sense. 

It wasn’t fair that a love like that could die. It had been years already, but still Lewis felt a prickle in his eyes and the wind wasn’t any comfort anymore. It was just air moving through the bleak, empty world and slapped him in the face in passing.

Lewis stopped on the street. He recognized the unravelling when it happened and stopped to try and contain it. He listened to the noise of the traffic and let himself become aware of the crowd drifting pass him on the street. He smelled the stingy scent of carbon monoxide mixing with the greasy smell whiffing from the alley behind a nearby restaurant. It was a sunny day. 

Slowly when he became aware of the world around him, Lewis calmed down again. The splitting pain and the heaviness of the emptiness subdued, and after taking a moment to take in his surroundings, he couldn’t catch the frantic, bitter train of thought anymore.

More importantly, he realized he was standing in front of a pet store. 

He had been aware of said shop but had never visited. In the window it had a giant aquarium that hosted little pink sea monkeys, the latest pet graze among children he had heard, and next to it a multi-level cage of sawdust, funnels and miniature houses with a dozen hamsters. Neither interested Lewis much, but a poster of a handsome, black poodle with a text “A new litter ready for adoption!” did. He stepped inside.

Poodles, bred smaller every year it seemed, groomed to max and topped with a bow seemed to be all the rage. Lewis had noted that whenever a suburban family adopted a puppy, it was nine times out of ten a poodle, and though he still associated them with hunting he decided he wouldn’t mind a furry little friend like that to cuddle on the couch. Poodles were brave, smart dogs with attitude that couldn’t be denied with a ridiculous hairdo or a bow, and during the three steps Lewis took up the stairs and into the pet store he had moved from indifference to solid decision that it was finally time to get another dog.

The corner store was sizable but still cramped with all the cages and terrariums taking up all the space, leaving only narrow walkways between them. Lewis walked in and followed the sound of high-pitched yipping coming from the back.

A store clerk who was clearly a part-time worker probably still in high-school spotted him and came up to him, wiping her hands down on her apron.

“Good day, sir! How may I help you?” she asked, chipper but professional.

“Hi. I’d like to adopt a dog,” Lewis said, gesturing to the front window and the poster on it.

The clerk smiled widely. “Certainly! Follow me, please, and I’ll so you the puppies.”

She led Lewis to the back of the store, where there was a small backroom with a playpen with pillows, blankets, tennis balls and rubber toys and ten tiny rust red poodle puppies. The clerk presented the puppies with a proud smile and a wave of her hand. “There they are!” she declared. “Four boys, six girls, nine weeks old and ready to be your best friend for life.” 

Lewis knelt by the playpen, and immediately all ten puppies stopped chewing on toys and wrestling with each other and barreled towards him. A couple of brave ones bounced towards him with speed and their shyer siblings followed in their wake, and Lewis felt a soft squeeze in his chest when he looked at the chubby little babies and their bright button eyes. How could he decide which one to take home with him?

“Only two of the boys have been reserved already,” the clerk helpfully informed him, “but the rest are available. In my opinion, the girls of this bunch are real sweethearts, very friendly but also calm. Have you had a dog before, sir?”

“Yes, I used to,” Lewis mentioned and reached into the pen, five snouts immediately mushing into his palm and wrist and someone’s needle sharp teeth nipping his thumb. “No more, though. Now would be a perfect time to get another one.”

“So sorry for your loss,” the clerk said, and Lewis was thrown by how she sounded like giving her condolences for a human, not a dog lost in divorce. 

“Thank you,” Lewis said, a bit awkwardly.

“Take all the time you need with them,” the clerk promised. “We’re not in a hurry, and you’re picking a friend for life, it’s not an easy choice.”

Lewis smiled. He decided that the girl definitely had her heart in a right place and wondered if she’d read Black Beauty when younger. 

“May I ask if you’re looking for a walk buddy or a working dog? Perhaps I could recommend someone with the right – oh, no, doggie, back! Back to basket!” 

Lewis looked up to see what had distracted the clerk and saw her shooing another dog that was making its way towards them from the corner. Now that Lewis looked he spotted a big basket under a desk, and the dog that was sniffing and trotting towards them was so shabby looking he didn’t wonder why he hadn’t noticed it. 

“I’m sorry, this dog lives at the store at the moment,” the clerk said and went to meet it before it reached them, catching it by the collar around its neck.

Lewis looked at it. It was clearly an adult mix of several breeds, midsized with golden wiry hair and floppy ears, and it walked with a wobble and with its head turning to this and that direction. When Lewis looked at its face, he saw fur like a general’s moustache and underneath a fringe of curls two round eyes, both milky white. 

“What’s that dog’s story?” Lewis asked and watched it turn its head to his direction and sniffing loudly. 

“Oh, this one? A stray I took off the streets a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been feeding him every now and then, but I realized that animal control would just put him down if they caught him,” she explained. “My parents don’t allow me to have pets and no one wants a faulty animal, so he sort of lives at the store for now.”

There was something that bothered Lewis about the choice of words. “Faulty?” 

Th clerk shrugged. “He’s blind and walks with a limp. He doesn’t seem to have any pains, but people just don’t want a sick animal when they could get a young, healthy one. No one knows what to do with a blind dog anyway. There’s so much extra trouble, and to be frank most would think it kind to just put him out of his misery.”

Lewis looked at the dog. It didn’t look very old though clearly an adult, and its black nose was trembling with how curiously it sniffed the surroundings it couldn’t see. It had a curly tail that was wagging carefully, like it wasn’t sure the situation was safe or good, but it was hopeful. 

“You can let him go,” Lewis said, sitting down on the floor. 

The clerk gave him a questioning look.

“Let him come smell what’s what. He’s clearly curious,” Lewis said. 

“Oh. A… Alright,” she said and let go of the collar.

The dog bounced forward when let go and was apparently startled by the sudden movement. It stood still for a second, the tail slowly wagging, then stepped nervously forward and pressed its snout down.

Lewis patted his knee. “Come on. I’m right here, just in front of you, come on,” he called gently, patted his knee again and made encouraging kissy noises. 

The dog’s tail wagged a bit harder, the floppy ears perked up and it started to feel and sniff its way to him, carefully approaching him in a reserved crouch. 

“It’s okay, come on,” Lewis encouraged. 

Slowly the blind dog found him, first carefully sniffing him from a distance, then bumping his snout against his hand. It startled back at first, but Lewis waited him out and slowly he returned, tail wagging harder as he sniffed Lewis’ hand and his jacket, then allowed Lewis to pet him. 

Lewis scratched his ears. The dog pushed into his hand, and he found its wiry hair soft despite its appearance. “There you go,” he spoke to him. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, a good boy.” 

The dog bounced on his paws a bit and pushed closer, half climbing into Lewis’ lap with uncertain steps but the tail kept on wagging, and Lewis felt his breath catching when the wet muzzle planted itself into his neck. 

The clerk had been standing back and watching quietly for a while, but now she spoke up with a gentle voice. “I wouldn’t know what to do with him either. He might turn out to be a very challenging pet with a lot of special needs – “

“Nonsense,” Lewis said as he rubbed the dog’s ears and watched him closing his eyes in bliss. “He just needs some time, understanding and a chance. Ain’t that right? Just a chance, and you’re going to be just fine, huh?” The tail wagged even harder when he was spoken to, and Lewis smiled. “I thought so. It’s going to be all okay. I hope you like long walks.” 

Lewis hadn’t left the house with plans of getting a dog and he didn’t have any stuff at home for his new buddy, so he just bought most necessities on the spot. He left the store with a big bag of pet care stuff, a basket under his arm and a leash in the other, his new friend at the end of it walking remarkably confidently by his side for a blind dog. Lewis had been afraid that the dog would be fearful or shy on the leash, but it seemed that the main problem would be keeping him from running too far ahead instead of dragging behind and covering by his feet. 

“A brave one, aren’t you?” Lewis cooed at him. “A brave, handsome stray. I think I’ll call you Tramp, though your heartbreaking days are over.” 

When they arrived at home, Lewis locked the front door and led his new dog in the quiet corner of the living room, set his basket down and let him figure out the house from there. It seemed that as cheerful as he had been on the streets, arriving at a strange house overwhelmed Tramp and he simply crawled into his basket and stuck there. Lewis waited for him to explore the house like his previous dog had done immediately, but this one planted his muzzle into the blanket and curled up.

“Too much, huh?” Lewis asked. He sat down on the floor next to the basket and stayed there. “It’s okay. It’s like that sometimes.” 

He sat there on the floor and watched the dog. He seemed smaller like that, curled up in the basket with his fuzzy face buried in the blanket, and like a completely different animal from the curious, cheerful dog he had been in the shop. Lewis sighed.

“I’m sorry I took you away from your friend. Must be hard to suddenly come with me like this and start a new life. But I just couldn’t leave you at that store, you know? That’s no way for a dog to live. I’m sure you want a home for your basket, a pile of toys of your own, long afternoon walks and a bowl in the kitchen, probably tear a couple of my pillows apart and so on. You know, a proper dog’s life? It’s hard right now, I know, but I promise you good things are coming. I’m sure there are good parks in San Francisco and you’ll love it there. It’s going to be just fine after a while,” Lewis kept talking. He supposed that was going to be important for making the life easier for Tramp, and as an afterthought Lewis realized he’d have to get the layout of his new place right immediately so that Tramp could figure it out and trust it.

He’d also have to keep his place tidy so that Tramp wouldn’t trip or end up eating anything he wasn’t supposed to. Lewis considered that the dog was going to train him as much as he would the dog and chuckled. 

Tramp stayed curled up in his basket, and Lewis watched him. He was clearly listening to him voice, but made no attempt to leave the basket.

“That’s okay. I know it can be hard,” Lewis comforted him. “Take your time. It’s going to be alright in the end, even if you have to take a moment now.” 

Lewis wondered what it was like to be blind. The world must feel like a very big, unpredictable place like that, and your own path in it very uncertain and difficult. Lewis liked to think he understood.

“You’ve lived on the street, but I can confidently say that there are houses worse than that. Or did you choose the street over a bad house too? Well, even if you did, I promise mine is going to be a good one for you. You’re safe now,” he promised. Tramp couldn’t understand him, but saying it out loud felt like an important vow anyway, and Lewis knew that once spoken, he couldn’t break it. 

“I’m sorry I’m going to drag you across the country almost immediately though,” Lewis mentioned. That was the part that really made his impulse of an adoption a bad decision. Moving and spending days in a car wouldn’t be good for an already stressed dog. “But I just can’t stay here anymore. I’ll understand if you get upset and start pissing indoors or something, but I really have to leave. It’ll be a new beginning for the both of us.”

He fell quiet for a moment again. Tramp stayed curled up, but his ears perked up too. 

“Even counting you, everything I want to take with me fits in my car and it’s not even tight,” Lewis chuckled. “It’s funny, how I’ve lived here for the most of my life and yet there’s so little I want to actually take with me. So much of it is either burden that I want to shake, or something I’ve lost already.”

It was painful to let his thought drift into that direction for the second time of the day. The throb he felt was loneliness, and along it the bitter edge of regret. Something had slipped from his grasp like sand, and he had been too drunk to notice it. It was useless to rage against it as he had never had power over it, but still something about it felt so unfair that he couldn’t stop the spark of anger that accompanied the rest. 

“I lost someone very dear to me,” he said. “He went away. I don’t even know why I didn’t fight for him harder. I just… let it happen. I let him go.”

He rested his head against the wall and let his gaze circle the room. So many important things had happened there, and all of it in the past, out of Lewis’ reach. There was nothing but regret here. 

“He’s married now. I heard he’s got two kids too. He hasn’t told me about any of it, that’s how totally I screwed it all up,” he said, the bitterness so strong it choked him. “We were friends first, and I guess I always thought that if nothing else, that at least wouldn’t change. It was too perfect to do so, but… Well, I guess not.”

“So he’s married and has a family, and I am moving to San Francisco with you and three boxes with no intention of ever again speaking to my abusive bastard of a father. It’s a clean slate,” he declared. “Or as clean as it can be considering… Hm.” He paused once again and wondered how hard it was saying this out loud even when the only one listening to him was a dog. He laughed, not completely joylessly. “As little as there are important things here, he’s one of them. He’s gone, has been gone for years now, but…” He didn’t know what else to say. Whatever thought he had been following had escaped, and instead he turned his gaze towards the entry hall. It happened upon the three cardboard boxes that had everything he had deemed worth salvaging. He chuckled.

“I still keep a picture of him,” he said. “I can’t let it go. There’s this one picture of him, still in its frame, that I keep wrapped in a pillowcase. I can’t look at it, I have nowhere to put it, but I just can’t bear to throw it out either. I just… need to know that it’s there.” 

He turned to the dog curled up tight in his basket with the blanket. It must have been so stressful to be brought into a strange house and not be able to see any of it, the basket the only thing even remotely familiar to him. Poor little Tramp, a faulty dog that no one had wanted. It was a strange thought to Lewis, to think of an animal as faulty or broken, as if living things could be ruined beyond repair. Because still, as scared and rejected as this dog was, he still wagged his tail.

“I loved him,” he said directly to Tramp, who perked up as if he knew he was spoken to. “I loved a man, more than I have ever loved anything or anyone. You’re not going to judge me for that, are you?”  
Tramp blinked his blind eyes and tilted his head, relaxing just a little bit. Lewis reached over to give him a gentle pet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. We’re going to be fine.”


End file.
